


Bitter Sweet Symphony

by People_from_mars



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: First War with Voldemort, Hogwarts, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Hogwarts, The lost years
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-13 02:40:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29021349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/People_from_mars/pseuds/People_from_mars
Summary: Remus Lupin hates magic. He hates how it tastes like ash on his tongue and he hates how every flick of a wand reminds him of everything that magic has taken from him. Magic was the one that betrayed them all those years ago. Even more so than Sirius. It's been almost thirteen years. But once again it's summer and on his doormat is two letters with Albus Dumbledore's twirly handwriting and the blood-red Hogwarts wax seal. And the ache inside him has been replaced by a longing for the same thing that has only hurt him. He supposes it's a bitter sweet symphony.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 1





	Bitter Sweet Symphony

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this story on a whim during online school because this is much more fun. I hope you enjoyed it, and feel free to leave a comment, they always make my day. I don’t have anything longer planned for the future, but who knows? The title is from the song Bittersweet Symphony by The Verve. It’s a great song and a great band so make sure to check them out.  
> I hope you have a great day!

There were two letters on the doormat. Remus Lupin didn’t particularly want to look at them, even less read them. That was the reason he cursed himself as he sat down at the kitchen table with the letters in front of him, the morning after they had shown up on his doormat. He had always had a hard time saying no. 

He stared at them as he waited for the kettle to boil and when it was finished he found himself unable to poor the hot water into the already prepared cup. Its porcelain had tea stains because he didn’t bother to wash it. Before he used to take his tea with one sugar and a splash of milk, like his mother had, and he’d always washed the cup after using it. Now he didn’t really care anymore. 

Finally, he poured the water into the cup with the tea bag and sat down at the kitchen table. The letters were still there. Why shouldn’t they have been? It wasn’t as if they could magically disappear, he thought to himself with the shadow of a smirk on his lips. It wasn’t as if he was a wizard, not anymore, not really. It had been years since he’d done any magic. 

That was why the letters felt like such an intrusion, the Hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry seal sparkling. He had used to look at magic in that way too. As a wide eyed first year in the Great Hall watching the floating candles he’d thought he’d cry. Now magic had turned into something that brought only pain. Both physical pain (being hit with a cruciatus curse, all the jinxes, the hexes he’d endured) and the much worse kind, the one that left an ache so horrible he couldn’t eat, sleep or do anything at all.

After it had happened he’d wanted to die every time he saw someone flick their wand or use an object no muggle would ever be able to identify. But instead of dying he had killed all the magic in his life. Without it he was nobody. And that sounded okay to him. 

First, he’d stopped using his own magic for small things he could do just as fine by himself; opening doors, filling up the glass with water, writing down the shopping list. Then he had moved on to bigger things like no more magical jobs (they always fired him anyways within the first months), no more using the floo, no more charms or hexes or jinxes of any kind. 

One day he’d stopped using magic at all. It took him nearly a week to notice it. After that he stopped visting Alice and Frank at St. Mungos, stopped coming by for dinner at the Weasleys, stopped staring at James and Lily’s grave for hours on end and stopped answering the letters he got from anyone who knew about the war, who knew about magic. 

And now, almost thirteen years later he was sitting at his kitchen table with two letters from Dumbledore. It was as if he was eleven years old once more and the old man had showed up at the door and told him that he could have it, the magic. That it didn’t matter if once every month his bones popped and his chest hurt and he no longer was Remus Lupin, a shy, eleven year old boy that had his tea with a splash of milk and one sugar. 

He sat at his kitchen table, the cup of tea in one hand, one of the letters in the other. He sighed and opened the seal. It hurt to hear the familiar cracking noise, no muggles used wax seals anymore, but it didn’t hurt as much as it used to. He didn’t read the letter inside, just placed it on the kitchen table, grabbed his cup and walked over to the wall where the picture hung. 

His mom had taken it with her muggle camera during the summer between their fifth and sixth year at Hogwarts. Peter stood next to James who had his arm around Sirius who was leaning on Remus. Ten minutes previously they’d snogged in him bedroom while Peter and James were helping his mum bake apple pie. It had been a hot summer and all of them, except for James who only got tanned, had burned in the sun. Still, they’d been happy. 

In the air in front of them James’s golden snitch had been captured by the camera mid-flight. Remus has always thought that he wouldn’t have been able to see it if the photo hadn’t been taken on a muggle camera. As he’d placed the photos on the wall he’d told himself that the only reason he’d kept them was because they were muggle with no trace of magic. That was a lie, but Remus Lupin was a good liar after all these years. 

Sirius Black smiled at him as he stared at the photo of four happy boys, not so far away from the wide-eyed eleven year olds mesmerized by the magic at Hogwarts, and took a sip of the now cold tea. It was bitter. Remus had always liked it better with some milk and a bit of sugar.


End file.
